


The amazing adventures of John Segundus and the extraordinary magical chicken

by Polly_Chatterly



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Also chickens, Dumb magicians in love, Fluff, M/M, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Chatterly/pseuds/Polly_Chatterly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a hurricane hits Starecross Hall, Segundus and Honeyfoot have to deal with the repairs in spite of being pennyless. What to do? Who to ask for help? Nobody, of course. After all, they are magicians. Why borrow some money when, with a little bit of ingenuity, they can create a chicken that lays golden eggs? Unfortunately for Segundus, nothing ever goes as it should. In spite of his efforts, the eggs laid by the chicken are everything but golden. Magical, yes, but definitely not golden. Does Childermass have anything to do with this? Oh, he does. He really does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The amazing adventures of John Segundus and the extraordinary magical chicken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrabble-wars](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=scrabble-wars).
  * Inspired by [Le mirabolanti avventure di John Segundus e della straordinaria gallina magica](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4769636) by [Polly_Chatterly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Chatterly/pseuds/Polly_Chatterly). 



> I can't even express my gratitude for the lovely scrabble-wars (follow her on Tumblr, folks!), who is the author of this translation. Although I can confirm she did an amazing work, she still feels the necessity to state that English is not her native language, and that she is sorry for any eventual mistake.

Well – thought Mr. Segundus, not without a certain degree of resignation – things were going far too well. After Jonathan Strange and Gilbert Norrell’s disappearance there had been a great commotion, it would be foolish and naïve to deny it. 

Because the English soil was oozing magic from every pore, and there were more and more curious and enthusiast people who wanted to approach the subject, Mr. Honeyfoot and himself had their work cut out. John Segundus felt like he had been assigned undeserved authority overnight – but he was a  _practical_ _magician_ , good heavens! He had reattached Lady Pole’s severed finger to her hand, and how successfully! From that moment on there had been a succession of reunions, letters to send and receive, decisions to make, societies and clubs for magicians that sprung like mushrooms in every corner of England.

Mr. Segundus’s days were spent both at the Learned Society of York Magicians, which had been restored after the mysterious departure – even if, perhaps, ‘departure’ was not the appropriate word – of Mr. Norrell, and Starecross Hall, where the magician took care of his patients on a daily basis and, if time was on his side, engaged in writing and research.  A frantic life after years of nearly wearing inactivity.

And yet, commotion or not, things were  _really_ going far too well.  However, considering what had happened in the past, our magician could have anticipated that the idyll was not meant to last long.  To tell the truth, John Segundus could have anticipated many things.

Maybe, well, at least he could have anticipated the hurricane. 

  


In the afternoon of August the 29th 1818, Segundus was sitting on the moist grass in front of the gate at Starecross Hall.

Or, better yet, in front of what was left of it. 

In fact, nothing remained of the iron grate. Maybe it had flown through one of the second floor windows after being uprooted by the wind like a twig, but there was no way John Segundus would know this for sure. Many hours had passed since the storm –  _storm! Biblical plague would be more accurate_ – had left the county to go and molest the people who lived on the coast, and still the magician hadn’t made up his mind to enter the house and assess the extent of the damage. 

As if there was anything to assess!

The roof seemed to have collapsed on itself. The beautiful, brilliant red tiles he had so patiently fixed were lying scattered all around the edge of the garden. The second floor windows had been smashed, the shutters unhinged and carried away by the wind. And his garden? His beautiful garden, generous with medicinal herbs he had tended with so much love? Lost. Gone. Destroyed. Wiped out like a sheet of paper that has been crumpled and thrown on the ground.

His only consolation was that nobody was hurt.

The two nurses and the few patients that were under their care, together with Mr. Honeyfoot and himself, had found shelter in the cellar between bottles of claret and hanging sausages that had been left to mature.

When the storm had ceased and they had been allowed to go inside, John Segundus had discovered, with a faint but undeniable relief, that a large portion of the ground floor had withstood the fury of the elements. Cold comfort, it is true, at least in front of the devastation that had involved the rest of the building, but – and this was announced by Mr Honeyfoot – everyone was safe and sound and he should thank God for that.

Mr. Segundus, however, did not think that way. A bunch of hours later, when the first help came from the village, the magician discovered with great dismay that the hurricane had had the brilliant idea of hitting Starecross Hall and  _only_ Starecross Hall, sparing the fields and the neighbouring villages. 

For the umpteenth time in his life, he got the impression that his fate had turned against him. 

  


Having wisely realised that, for the time being, there was very little he could do, Mr. Honeyfoot had kindly invited Mr. Segundus to settle at High-Petergate for some time, but he had politely declined the invitation because of a series of sentimental reasons we ought to examine in depth.

Years before, with a tremor in his voice he wasn’t very proud of, John Segundus had declared that magic was his life and, had someone taken it from him, he wouldn’t have known what to do.  
Now he happened to realise that Starecross Hall had been the physical evidence of his love for magic and everything that surrounds it for all that time . It had been his home as well as his workplace.   
It was there that he had experienced the most amazing moments of his life, moments of such a poignancy that he would have felt like he was being mocked, had someone hinted at them even just a few years earlier.

Starecross Hall really was his whole life.

And now a stupid storm had taken it away.

  


While he was sitting on the moist grass of his lawn, John Segundus wondered whatever could be done. His patients needed care and assistance, but, above all, they needed to rest their body and soul in a comfortable environment. He sadly admitted that Starecross Hall was inadequate for either of those purposes. 

He ruefully glanced at the building.

The good thing was that the foundations hadn’t been destroyed. The cellar was intact and so was most of the ground floor. The bearing walls of the first and second floor - and probably some other structural element, but it was difficult to tell from that position - were still standing. The roof had been completely reduced to dust.

Mr. Segundus sighed. All things considered repairs were still possible, but it would take months. And summer was coming to an end, and God only knew how difficult it would be to rebuild a house in the midst of winter. He was not an expert of architecture, but he was pretty sure mortar and snow weren’t really meant to blend together. 

Nevertheless, Segundus thought of himself as a less than mediocre magician. Since Gilbert Norrell and Jonathan strange had disappeared in the Black Tower he had tried some simple magic and mostly succeeded, however he was sure some really powerful magic had to be involved in the reconstruction of an entire building. Such powerful magic he wasn't even sure he...

_Oh dear! My books!_

Because of the chaos in which he had hurriedly tried to secure his patients, Segundus had totally forgotten the library. 

(From our point of view, we might judge him honourable and selfless, however we are not John Segundus, and what seems chivalry to us was deemed utter simple-mindedness by the person concerned.)

Segundus, panicking, run towards the ruins of the house, but as he was approaching the entrance - or what had  _formerly_ been an entrance - he felt a hand grab him and yank him back.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you" said a deep voice behind him, so near that Segundus felt the hairs on his nape stand up.

He turned around ready to face the intruder, mentally prepared to deal with a thief that had been drawn to his precious bottles of claret, now unfortunately made available to everyone. 

But it was only Childermass, of course he was Childermass, because misfortunes never come singly and that man was the living proof of it.

"Mr. Childermass" Segundus protested, not knowing whether to be surprised, outraged, or both. 

"Mr. Segundus" greeted the other as if on instinct, and bowed imperceptibly, "I see you have not lost your old habit of embarking on dangerous business without thinking first."

The shadow of a smile appeared on his face, but a moment later it was gone so quickly that Segundus wondered if he had imagined it. And, to be honest, he didn't even care. He had no memory of ever having met someone as frustrating as John Childermass, and whether he had smiled or not was a completely irrelevant matter.

"M- Mr. Childermass" replied Segundus, trying to stay calm and collected "I regret to inform you that this is not the time or the place for me to tolerate your sarcasm. In case you hadn't noticed, sir" and he raised an index, indicating the dilapidated building behind him "I am currently in a lot of trouble, and I beg you to be so kind as to put aside all those forms of irony or mockery you usually aim at me. I could never tolerate having to become rude to someone." even If it's you, he wanted to add, but he did not.

However, Childermass seemed to have understood anyway. "My apologies, Mr. Segundus" he murmured, and seemed sincere. "I did not mean to offend you. It is obvious that you are in a lot of trouble, but you'd have found yourself in a far worse trouble if I had let you go in there." He indicated Starecross Hall with a nod.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, sir," replied Childermass, imitating the same petulance that Segundus had employed only a few moments earlier "that the building is not safe. If a beam had collapsed on your head and I had not wanted to stop you, even being able to do so, I would have lived with guilt until the day of my decease." He raised an eyebrow and smiled, tangibly this time "Do you understand now? "

"Oh."

Segundus suddenly felt very ridiculous, and very, very ungrateful.

"Please forgive me, Mr. Childermass." He murmured sadly, and the mocking grin suddenly seemed to disappear from the face of the other man, "I was just worried about my books. Last night my first concern was to secure my patients, of course, but after the excitement of the moment It occurred to me that my modest library was still under the rubble, and that it could somehow be recovered. "

Childermass nodded, but didn't say anything. For some time both were silent, contemplating the ruins of Starecross Hall. Segundus's look shifted from the scene of desolation to the stern face of the man who stood before him, and the magician could not tell which of the two visions distressed him more.

For years he had associated that face to 'Bad News', and despite the fact Segundus had had the chance to reconsider it, especially after the events related to the appearance of John Uskglass, the Raven King, he could not refrain from feeling discomfort when he was in his presence.

Childermass gave no sign he had noticed Segundus's gaze. He continued staring at the house for a few minutes, as if looking for something.

_No, he isn't looking for something_ \- Segundus realised after a few moments, feeling like an idiot for not understanding it earlier -  _he is thinking of a way to enter without the risk of having something collapse on him._

Needless to say that Segundus was right. Childermass took his hat off, and he laid it on the ground. The heavy overcoat came next. 

"What are you-" Segundus began, but the man was already running towards the house.  
"Stay where you are, Mr. Segundus" shouted back the other, while he started venturing into the ruins of Starecross Hall "and, for Heaven's sake, do not touch anything unless I tell you".

Segundus could have used a retort, or at least he could have told him there was no need to treat him like a child, because he was an adult who was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but he was already gone.

Unable to suppress a huff of frustration, he sat on what was left of one of the gate pillars and waited, silently praying that nothing bad would happen.

Childermass was definitely not his favourite person in the world, but there was a great difference between finding him extremely unpleasant and being indifferent to the possibility of his premature death.

However, the magician came back after about ten minutes and, to Segundus's great astonishment, he was walking with a book held close to his chest.  
"You are a very lucky man, Mr. Segundus" he said, handing him the precious book "Your library is intact."

Segundus grabbed the book with both hands, and looked up at Childermass's figure silhouetted by the backlight of the afternoon sun.

"Thanks" he whispered, lightly touching the cover with his fingers "I thank you infinitely, Childermass. Oh, dear! " he laughed nervously, in his eyes a spark of infantile enthusiasm "I didn't dare to hope they could... they could be ... "

"You don't really think I am going to fetch them one by one, now" the other man interrupted, looking around as if suddenly uncomfortable. "I have found a safe passage through what is left of the entrance hall. If you promise" he warned, taking the book from his hands and laying it on the ground "you will follow my instructions, and you will not risk your life leaning against an unstable pillar."

"Oh, of course!" cried Segundus, with perhaps a little more enthusiasm than necessary. "I'll follow you like a shadow, Mr. Childermass!"

Maybe he should have been offended by the way the latter had raised his eyes to heaven. Incredibly, he was not.

  


A couple of hours later the sun had finally gone over the hills, and Childermass and Mr. Segundus sat on the lawn surrounding Starecross Hall, dirty dust up to their hair, but with all Mr. Segundus's books and notes neatly stacked in front of them.

"I still can't believe it," murmured the latter, not daring to take his eyes from the pile of books in front of him almost in fear they would disappear again "we saved them all, Mr. Childermass! All of them!" He heard a sound coming from the other man, a cross between a laugh and a snort.  
"How could I ever thank you enough?"

Childermass shrugged and stood up, wiping the dust from his trousers with a sharp blow of his hand. "You'd have found them anyway, one way or another," he said, putting away his pipe and grabbing his hat and cloak.

"Are you leaving?"asked Segundus, and he couldn't help feeling a little ungrateful.

"It's getting dark, and you'd better leave as well."

"Are you going to York?"

Childermass didn't answer. He untied his horse from the tree to which he had tied it, and led him by the reins to the beginning of the road. Segundus followed him, jogging along.

"I do not know how to thank you, had it not been for you-"

"Goodbye, Mr. Segundus," interrupted the other man and, after having mounted Brewer, he rode off at full gallop.

Segundus watched him for some time, until the road curved behind a hill and horse and rider were hidden from his sight.

Only then he realized he hadn't asked Childermass what had brought him to Starecross Hall.

  


 


End file.
